


A Lot Less Gross Than Alien Guts

by Enclave



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Sick Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enclave/pseuds/Enclave
Summary: Keith gets very sick during a training exercise. Shiro takes care of him.





	A Lot Less Gross Than Alien Guts

**Author's Note:**

> If you're emetophobic at all, please click your back button and choose another fic! There shouldn't be anything else triggering, though.

"Alright, Keith, the Galra ship will be coming around near your eleven in about thirty seconds," Shiro's voice comes through the speaker. "Get into position to strafe it as it goes by. Pidge, cover Keith's six."

"Copy that," Keith says, and winces. His voice sounds rough, as though he didn't get enough sleep last night, but in fact he slept for more than nine hours and almost slept through his second alarm. He never does that. He's not sure what's wrong with him today; he just knows he needs to get his head in the game for this training exercise before anyone else notices it.

If he's honest with himself, he feels like shit, and it's only been getting worse since the training exercise began. Despite his full night of sleep, he feels sluggish and exhausted, and he's been increasingly nauseous the longer they've been out in zero-G. At first he was hoping it was just the reduced gravity making him sick, even though he isn't prone to motion-sickness like Hunk is. But now his head is starting to hurt, and cold sweat is building in his armpits and across his back, and he thinks he might actually  _ be _ sick. The thought terrifies him. For one thing, he  _ hates _ vomiting and would do almost anything to avoid it, not that he usually has much control. Secondly, there isn't enough time for him to fall ill, not with Zarkon still out there wreaking havoc and--

"Keith,  _ now! _ " Shiro snaps in his helmet. He jolts upright and takes the shot. His first two bolts go completely wide, but he's able to hit the ship the next eight consecutive times. Pidge attracts the ship's fire, dodging expertly as it fires on them. The streamlined purple cruiser rocks to one side with the force of Keith's blasts, silent in the vacuum of space. "Nice aim," Lance says over the radio as he follows up with a few more blasts at the retreating ship. This is the last ship from the simulated Galra formation left, and from the looks of it it'll explode in the next pass or two.

But Keith doesn't know if he can make it to the next pass or two.

He swipes his sweaty forehead on one of his gloves and tries to steady his hands on the controls on the next pass. His team is a maelstrom of shouting in his headset, and he can't seem to focus enough to pick out one voice from the next. It takes more effort than usual to maneuver his lion into position, and he can tell the red lion is assisting him, rebalancing itself when Keith accidentally tugs the controls and occasionally accelerating just enough to dodge the scattered fire from the battered Galra cruiser. Though the movement is gentle, the lion dodging shots has Keith wrapping one arm around his stomach.  _ Please don't puke, please don't puke, just hold it together until we're back at the castle... _ He takes a long drink of water, hoping it'll help. It doesn't.

The cruiser passes by again, and the team is shouting riotously over the radio channel. Keith manages to get a few decent shots off, but his vision is wavering and a prickling wave of weakness comes over him that makes it hard to aim. His hands tremble on the controls. He grits his teeth, steels himself.

He really doesn't feel good at all.

As the Galra ship retreats once more, Keith's stomach turns in earnest and a weird, quivery feeling hits him, and he realizes he's actually going to throw up. Not like, first turn in the bathroom when they get back to the castle throw up. Like, he needs to get moving now if he doesn't want to puke on the control panel throw up.

"Keith, ready for one more round?" Shiro asks.

He swallows. He's almost too afraid to talk because if he opens his mouth it's just gonna come up. "I can't," he grates out.

"You can't? What's going on?"

"I..." He swallows hard. "Lance..." His voice trails off to a whisper as his throat starts to open up.

"I've got it," Lance cuts in. Keith is grateful he's quick on the uptake and realizes Keith is asking him to take his spot in the formation, because he literally cannot say another word.

"But Keith..." Shiro says, and then Keith is muting his headset, tearing off his helmet, and darting into the back of the cockpit. He dry-heaves violently, and he's shaking and covered in cold sweat and he feels about ten times worse than he did a second ago. He only has time to think  _ Shit, I think I have a fever _ and  _ Please don't let me vomit on the floor _ before it's coming up at his feet. He braces himself against the cockpit door. His stomach wrenches and he vomits violently, coughs, spits. Before he can catch his breath he's puking again, closing his eyes so he doesn't have to see it. He can faintly hear the group voice channel coming from the helmet tucked carefully under his arm. They won, from the sound of it, but he really couldn't care less right now.

It seems like forever before he's done. His throat is raw and his mouth tastes horrendous. He's able to take a step back, out of range of the vomit on the floor, before he sinks to his knees and puts his pounding head in his hands with a groan. He's furious with himself for letting the team down. He doesn't want to be sick. It's weakness, and this late in the game, that's not acceptable. "Take us home, Red," he says to the lion, his voice cracking and strained. He feels the lion turn gracefully and head back towards the castle autopilot as he presses his thumbs into his temples, trying to overcome his aggressive headache.

"Keith? Keith, answer me," Shiro is saying from his helmet. He slips it gingerly back over his head so he can use the headset, retracting the visor all the way so he'll be ready if the worst happens again. His stomach is still churning. "I'm here, Shiro." They're speaking on a private channel, so the rest of the team can't hear how exhausted he lets himself sound.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I... I'm alright, I just threw up," he says. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no. Are you sick?"

"Maybe," he says grudgingly. He stifles a gag into his hand. "I ruined our formation," he adds miserably.

"Oh, Keith, don't worry about the formation right now. I care way more about how you're feeling. Just sit tight. Are you going to be okay until we get back to the castle?"

He definitely is not, not unless he docks in the next ten seconds or so. "Shiro," Keith says breathlessly. As his nausea mounts again, so does fear. The first time, he was too sick to worry about throwing up, but now that he knows what's coming, the thought of it sets his heart pounding. "I... I'm gonna be sick again." He's panting, close to hyperventilating. "I don't think I can hold it back..."

"It's okay, Keith, just let it out. We'll take care of it when you've landed and you're safe. Try to take deep breaths."

"No, I..." He swallows hard, covers his mouth, shudders. "I can't..."

"Just listen to me. Relax and take a deep breath in. Fighting it will only make it worse."

"But that'll make me...!" He involuntarily sucks in a breath at the suggestion, cutting himself off, and then he's puking again. He's kneeling, and he doesn't have the strength to get himself into a better position, so the first wave gets all over his legs, pooling in his lap. He hears himself sob faintly between retches. And he thought his day couldn't get any worse.

"You're okay, Keith. You're doing great. Oh, honey, you're really sick," Shiro says in his ear. Keith can't answer him. He can't stop gagging. "Try to breathe, baby. That's it. You're almost back at the castle."

Keith is a total mess by the time the red lion finally comes to a rest. There's vomit on his armor -- all over his armor, really -- and on the floor of the lion's cockpit, and Keith doesn't even want to know what the red lion thinks of that. He's also soaked in feverish sweat, and he's pretty sure Shiro will be able to tell he was crying a little the last time he puked. He stumbles down the ramp out of the lion, which is about as far as he gets before he loses his footing and his legs pretty much give out.

Shiro catches him, which is simultaneously the most embarrassing and the most wonderful thing that could happen to him. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice raw. "I tried to fight through it..."

"No, I'm sorry you're not feeling well. And I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier. I should have been paying better attention." Shiro sets him down on a bench on the command deck of the castle. The rest of the team is lingering across the room, casting worried glances at Keith. "Hey, Lance, get us a bucket or something. Pidge and Hunk, good work today. Take the evening off; we'll meet back here tomorrow morning." Keith exhales unsteadily. Shiro's always so in control of every situation; he knows exactly what Keith needs: privacy and quiet. Well, and to not be sick anymore, but that might be a little much to ask for.

"You can't be comfortable in all this armor. Let's get this off first." 

"Don't," Keith says as Shiro reaches for it. "It's gross."

"You're never gross to me. And trust me, this is a lot less gross than when one of us is covered with alien guts," he jokes, and Keith can't help but crack a smile.

He takes his helmet off and sets it beside him, and then fumbles towards the catches on the rest of his armor to help Shiro, but Shiro bats him away. "I've got you." He expertly unclicks all the little fasteners, stripping off the hard exoskeleton piece by piece. Keith wants to protest that he can do it himself, but he's too exhausted, and his stomach hurts from puking, and he just feels like shit, so he doesn't. He leans back and lets Shiro do the work until he's just in the white t-shirt and loose pants he wears under his armor.

Once the armor is off, he feels Keith's forehead, and Keith leans into the touch, his eyes closing. "You feel really warm."

"Yeah, I don't feel so good," he murmurs. There's no point in hiding it now. He's already in his sweat-soaked underwear in front of Shiro; he doesn't really have any farther to fall.

"What's wrong? Besides the puking, I mean."

"Tired, and cold. Head hurts. And I still feel like I'm going to throw up again."

"Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?"

He closes his eyes. His head is pounding so badly he can't think, and he knows if he stands up it's gonna get a million times worse, but he'd rather Shiro not have to clean up his mess if it happens again. When it happens again. "Yeah," he manages finally, "Just help me up."

"Yeah, on second thought, let's just stay here until it's out of your system," Shiro says. He must sense what's about to happen, because he hands Keith the bucket Lance brought -- Lance has since retreated, but he also left behind a bottle of water and a washcloth; that was nice of him -- and sits down beside him with his arm around Keith's shoulders.

Keith pulls the bucket into his lap and braces his forearms over it, hanging over it expectantly. God, this is so miserable. "Shiro, you should go," he says through his teeth, swallowing convulsively.

Shiro raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Why? Is this making you uncomfortable?" He starts to pull his arm back.

"No, it's not that," Keith says quickly. "It's just... this is gonna be gross. You don't have to see it."

"Like I said, I've seen worse," Shiro says. "I want to make sure you're okay. You shouldn't have to deal with this alone. But if you want, I can get Lance or Allura to watch you."

"No!" he yelps, because either of  _ them  _ seeing this would be way worse than the current situation. "No, I... it's okay." He's so tense his shoulders are shuddering under Shiro's arm, which he has replaced across his back. If he clenches his jaw tight enough, maybe he won't puke. If Shiro is going to stay here, he should try to hold it back.

"Keith, I know you don't like throwing up, but you really need to relax. Let your body do what it needs to do."

"I can't," he gasps. Then, pathetically, "I'm scared."

"It's alright, baby. I'm right here." Shiro starts gently massaging his shoulders, rubbing away the tension, and if Keith lets his guard down for one second he's definitely gonna puke. Some very faraway rational part of his mind is saying he's going to puke anyway and he might as well get it over with rather than fighting it every step of the way. The entire rest of his brain has the alarm klaxons going full blast because the only thing worse than losing control of himself is losing control where Shiro can see. 

His mouth opens involuntarily and he dry heaves, then sobs. "I can't, I can't," he whimpers. His vision has gone totally blurry; he's staring into the bucket with the dread of someone on death row. Vaguely he feels Shiro pulling his hair back and swiping a string of drool off his bottom lip, which would be embarrassing if he weren't on the verge of a panic attack. Which actually is probably making him much  _ more _ likely to vomit, and isn't that ironic. He pulls the bucket closer and moans.

The next second he takes a breath in, and it hitches, and he feels like he's gonna hiccup, only it's not that, and his stomach tenses against his will, and he makes a pathetic mewling noise before he vomits. At least it all gets into the bucket. "It's alright, Keith," Shiro is saying, holding the bucket with one hand because Keith's hands are shaking too hard. His other hand rests on the nape of Keith's neck, holding his hair in a rough ponytail. Keith coughs roughly a few times and spits frantically, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. Shiro continues murmuring as Keith jerks forward, throwing up again before he's fully recovered from the first time. 

He doesn't puke as much this time, but it seems to go on a lot longer, until he's just loudly gagging up mostly saliva. Somewhere along the line, Allura pokes her head into the room and asks Shiro, "What's wrong with him?" Keith is too incapacitated to answer her, but Shiro says, "I think it's just a stomach virus. It's a human sickness. It's really uncomfortable, but he'll be alright in a few days." She expresses her sympathy and then quickly makes her retreat.

When he's finished dry heaving, Shiro holds the water up to his mouth. "Rinse." Keith swishes it around obediently and spits into the bucket, which Shiro then sets aside. He wets the washcloth and wipes off Keith's face. Keith lets out a dry sob. "You're done now. Shh, it's okay." 

"I hate... I hate losing control. I hate feeling weak."

"We're all weak sometimes," Shiro says patiently. "It's by supporting and helping each other that we become strong. That's what Voltron taught me. If it were every person for themself, we would just be a bunch of lions -- powerful spacecraft, sure, but nothing more than that. It's as a team that we have a chance against Zarkon. You need to learn that it's okay to get help when you need it. We're all rooting for you, no matter what's happening."

"What if this had been a real battle? What if those ships had really been Galra?"

"There's nothing you could have done to avoid what happened, if it had been a real battle. You're not sick because you're weak, you're sick because you're human. We would have covered for you, gotten back to the castle, and retreated to fight them on another day," Shiro says. "Anyway, I don't know if you noticed, but we passed the simulation. Lance figured out what was going on, told Hunk to shield you, and took out the cruiser on its last pass. Nobody was hit."

Keith shakes his head. He thinks of retorting again, but instead he just whispers, "Damn it," and then unexpectedly bursts into tears.

Shiro pulls him in gently to his chest -- he's at least taken his upper-body armor off, so it's not as pointy an experience as it otherwise would have been -- and holds Keith as he cries. He doesn't even know what the hell he's crying about. He's just totally spent. He hasn't been this sick in a long time, and he had forgotten how awful it felt to be so vulnerable, to be forced to rely on other people without having anything to give in return. He aches for life on Earth, where a stomach bug would mean a few days off school, rather than a threat to the safety of the entire universe. He wishes he could go back.

At least he has Shiro to take care of him. He has to admit that's a comfort.

After a while he starts to wind down, and Shiro suggests taking Keith to his bedroom. He nods and tries to stand, and the pain in his temples hits him like a hammer. Shiro has to catch him as he starts to go to his knees. "I'm carrying you. Not a question."

Keith is only semi-conscious as Shiro picks him up bridal-style and takes him to bed. He leans into Shiro's chest, selfishly enjoying the affection he doesn't really deserve after that debacle of a training exercise. At some point he hears Pidge asking Shiro if Keith is okay, and Shiro telling them he has the stomach flu and just needs time and fluids. Pidge's hand rests on Keith's shoulder for a moment, but he can't manage to open his eyes.

Shiro puts him in bed, but props him against the headboard. "Hang on, I'll be right back." He returns in a minute with painkillers and has Keith take them with a sip of water, murmuring that he hopes they stay down. "Sh'ro...?" Keith asks, the question only half-formed.

"I'm right here. I'm staying until you're ready for me to go, alright? Get some sleep."

And he finally drifts off.


End file.
